Just for Tonight
by Jenalla
Summary: Post-movie fic. "Emotions and feelings were something someone in their profession couldn't afford, and tomorrow, they could go back to being Barton and Romanoff, professional killers, but tonight, just for tonight, they would let their guards down. Just for tonight, they would be Clint and Tasha, two people who cared deeply about one another." Smut, lemon, fluff at end


The fight was over, the city was safe, the casualties were few and he was tired, so tired - he'd had his mind fucked, his ass kicked, and his head beaten, all over the span of a few hours - and the only thing he wanted to do was crawl into his bed and sleep for the next three or four days. Or, at least, that _was_ what he wanted to do, until he looked up and his eyes locked on hers and he saw the fire that burned in them. He knew that look, had seen it many times before, and as always, its effect was instant. Gone was the sleepiness, the fatigue, the dull ache that signified too much fighting, too many bruises, and not enough sleep, replaced by a hunger, a slow burn in the pit of his stomach that would not stop until it had been sated. And he knew the only way to sate it was to let it out and let it consume him.

No words were exchanged - after working together for so long, none were needed. They both knew what was coming. After their brief, wordless exchange - for it had all occurred in seconds - they went about their business, keeping their interactions perfunctory, at best, so as not to draw suspicion. Although he strongly suspected the rest of the team already knew about their...non-professional relationship, he saw no reason to announce it publicly. What they did behind closed doors was their business and their business alone.

He left first, heading back to his apartment just outside the city, mercifully spared in the onslaught earlier in the day. As he rode the elevator up, he let his mind wander back to their last rendez-vous. It had begun in the very elevator he was riding, in fact, when she'd pushed him into the corner and kissed him while climbing his body. In his field, he was used to going with the flow and therefore easily adapted, flipping them around and pinning her in the corner as their mouths fought for control. That was always how it was with them, a battle for dominance between two people who never, ever gave up control. He allowed himself a small smile at the memory before exiting the elevator and heading to his door.

He stepped in and closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it - she could pick the lock, he knew, but it would just take time, time that could be better spent getting her naked. As his thoughts lingered on her naked, he realized how desperately he needed this. He suddenly felt as though he were going to explode if he wasn't inside her, and soon.

Just then, he heard the door handle turn behind him, signaling her arrival. He turned as she entered and closed the door softly. For a moment that stretched into eternity, they stared at one another, chests rising and falling with anticipation, before both moving at once. She took a step toward him as he reached out his hand. His hand closed over her wrist and he yanked her to him, crushing his mouth to hers as his hands wrapped around her body and pulled her closer still. She responded immediately, returning the kiss and threading her hands through his hair, careful of the back of his head and the still-healing wounds from the glass he had thrown himself through earlier.

He took a step forward, and then another, walking her backwards into the door she had come through only moments before. As their tongues dueled, he felt her hands leave his hair to traverse his back before settling low on his hips, fingers rubbing small circles in the way she knew drove him crazy. Normally he would let her, would employ tactics of his own to drive her just as crazy, but not tonight; tonight he _needed_ to be in control. He had come too close to completely losing it, to hurting the only person he trusted in his life. Reaching down to where her hands were slowly lifting the hem of his vest, he grabbed them and pinned them above her head.

"Not tonight," he rasped against her lips. "I can't...not again..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish his thought. She looked at him, eyes penetrating to his core as only she could, before kissing him softly and slowly once and then again. He felt, rather than heard, her slow exhale before she said softly against his lips, "OK."

He kissed her fiercely, his desire doubling with her quiet assent; he knew how much she abhorred not being in control at all times. Using one hand to hold both her arms immobile above her head, he used his other hand to begin an exploration of her body, his lips never leaving hers. He felt her wrists twitching under his hand, and he knew she was resisting the urge to fight him. To distract her, he ground his pelvis into hers at the same time as his other hand found her right nipple and gave it a rough squeeze. A rushed intake of air was the only response he got, but from her, it was enough. He continued his slow, twisting assault on her nipple as he ground his pelvis into her again; he could feel her heat through his pants and his cock strained to be released.

His lips slid down the side of her neck to the soft spot on her shoulder he knew she liked; he suckled it softly before biting down none-too-gently. This time, he got a shudder and soft moan which went straight to his groin, hardening him further still. Letting go of her wrists, he grabbed her leg and hauled it up around her waist, bringing her into direct contact with his cock, with only the thin barriers of their clothes separating them. He bit down again, wishing not for the first time that they were already naked so that he could be sliding into her instead of dry humping her like a teenage boy. She was apparently thinking along the same lines (but then again, they always did) because she used her newfound freedom to grab his vest and unzip it before shoving it off his arms and onto the floor. He unzipped her skintight body suit and pushed it down her body so that it hung off her hips before pulling her flush against him as his lips returned to hers, silently giving thanks that she didn't feel a need to wear a bra underneath. Although he generally preferred to keep his distance, he had to admit, there was no better feeling in the world than her bare skin against his. Except maybe the feeling of sinking his hard cock into her.

With this thought in mind, he reached for body suit hanging at her hips, pushing it down her legs as far as he could without losing contact of her lips. She shimmied the rest of the way out of it as he undid his fly and pulled his cock out. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he quickly thrust into her. Later, there would be time to fully undress him, but his need to be inside her right then far outstripped his need to be naked. He needed to feel whole again, alive, in control of himself. He knew she understood when she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist. Kissing her softly, apologetically, he let instinct take over as he thrust hard and fast, sweat beading his brow and then trickling down his face from the effort of keeping her aloft and fucking her simultaneously.

He knew he wasn't going to last long with the grueling pace he set for himself. He pushed into her once, twice more before burying his face in her neck and releasing inside her. They stayed like that for a moment, him breathing heavily, harshly into her neck, her being uncharacteristically gentle and stroking his neck and back. Sensing his inability to support her for much longer, she unwrapped her legs from his waist and slid to her feet. She did not, however, stop stroking his neck, and he couldn't quite bring himself to leave the comfort of her embrace, not yet.

"I'm sorry," he began, his words vibrating against her skin as he spoke.

"Don't," she said sharply, contrasting her soft movements with hard words. "Don't you dare. You needed this. It's as simple as that."

"I know," he said, "but you..."

"You can make it up to me later." He allowed himself a small smile against her neck. Later sounded good.

Later:

They'd gradually worked their way across his apartment, stopping on the couch, on the kitchen counter, and to take her from behind against the wall, before they collapsed in his bed at last. He could feel the fire growing, threatening to consume him from the within.

At that thought, he felt himself go rigid, as memory after memory of his recent imprisonment flew unbidden through his head - shooting Fury, killing agents, trying to hurt her...He scrunched his eyes, in physical pain over how many people he had harmed, how many people wouldn't be returning home that night. _And what if it happened again?_ What if Loki were lurking in the back of his head, waiting with his sadistic cruelty for the opportune moment to once again unmake his mind? A moment such as this one? And suddenly, he was afraid as he'd never been afraid before. If anything happened to her, because of him, he could never forgive himself.

He could feel her twist toward him in the bed, and he sensed her confusion, but he couldn't bear to look at her. "You need to leave," he said harshly. "It's not safe."

"I...what are you talking about?" she asked, and from the motion of the mattress he knew she had sat up quickly and was assessing his apartment for signs of any impending attacks. "Do you know something? Is something going to happen?" He shook his head, too afraid to even put his fears into words. "Clint, what is it? What are you talking about?" He shook his head again.

"Tasha, please, just leave. Please," he all but begged of her.

"No," she said simply. "Not until you tell me what the hell is going on." He sighed; her stubborn streak was a mile long, and the only way she was leaving was if he forcibly made her, which in and of itself was no easy feat and one he was certainly not up to at the moment.

"I...how do we know Loki is really gone?" he asked.

"Loki? Thor took him back to Asgard, you know that. You were there," she said.

"That's...that's not what I mean," he said softly, so softly, eyes still squeezed shut, jaw tensed, hands fisted. For a moment he felt nothing from the woman next to him and he knew she was puzzling over his words, attempting to discern their meaning. And then, he felt her hands, soft and warm, on his fists as she lithely drew her form over his so that she was straddling him.

"Clint, look at me," she said quietly. He shook his head a third time. "Clint, I mean it. Open your eyes," she insisted, her tone acquiring a sharper edge. "Don't make me make you...and you know I could." He sighed, because he'd been on the losing end of their fights far too often and knew it was true. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up into hers, and he knew his fear was written plainly on his face. "Now you listen to me, because I'm only going to say this once. _Loki. Is. Gone_. Alright? You are you, Clint Barton, my partner, Avenger extraordinaire, and killer marksman. Do you honestly think I'd be here right now if I doubted, even for a second, that you were anyone other than just you?" He couldn't do anything other than stare up into her eyes, her words hypnotizing him, calming him. "And besides," she went on with a small smile, "I kicked your ass once already today. I'm pretty sure I could do it again if need be." This earned her a quirk of his lips, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

"But how do you know?" he asked quietly. "How can you really be sure he's gone? What if he comes back and...and I do to you what I was originally going to do to you?" He couldn't bare to voice Loki's plans for her. At his words, though, she closed her eyes and took a breath, not in annoyance or impatience but in...fear, he realized, and he knew then that she knew more than she was saying. "Tasha? What did he say to you? What did Loki say to you?" Now it was her turn to shake her head, but he persisted. "What did he tell you?"

"I...he said that you would kill me slowly, in every way that I fear," she whispered. "And that he'd lift his spell long enough to let you see me dying before he'd kill you." At her words, Clint closed his eyes again as the images ripped through his head. When Loki had taken control of his mind, he'd also gained control of his memories; every conversation, every interaction with Natasha was Loki's to peruse. And if anyone knew Natasha's deepest fears, it was Clint, and that _bastard_ had found a way to use those against both of them.

He took a calming breath and wrapped his arms around Natasha protectively, pulling her to him so that she was laying atop him.

"Tasha...I'm so sorry," he whispered. He didn't know what else to say, so he kept repeating it over and over. They stayed that way for a long time, comforting each other in turn with soft words and gentle caresses until they were both on the brink of sleep, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them. At last, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. Her eyes were still closed, but she looked less troubled now. He drew a finger softly down her face and she sighed and pressed her face into his hand. Although she was a lot of things - strong, fierce, loyal, and sexy as hell, to name a few - this was how he liked her best. When her defenses were down, when she was stripped of the Widow and it was just her, just Natasha. _My Natasha_, he thought fiercely.

"Tasha," he whispered, his hand continuing to stroke her cheek softly.

"Mmm?" she said sleepily. Her eyes remained closed.

"Tasha," he said again. "Open your eyes." She did so, slowly, until green met blue. "Today...I've never been so afraid as I was today. I could see everything that was happening, but I had no control over my body; it was like watching a movie of my life. When we were fighting...I..."

"Shhh," she said. "Clint, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," he said, tightening his grip on her. "If anything had happened to you today, because of _me_, I could never, ever have forgiven myself. I wanted so badly to stop fighting, and I couldn't. I felt so...helpless," he added, shuddering at the word. "As I watched us fighting, as I was trying to stop with everything I had, I realized how...important you are to me. You're the only person in the entire world that I trust, maybe the only one I've ever trusted. You've had my back, saved my ass, more times than I care to admit, and the fact that I couldn't return the favor in that moment was almost too much for me to bear. And as we fought, I promised myself that if I survived, somehow, miraculously, then I would tell you."

Throughout his confession, her eyes never left his, green piercing blue. And now that he was done, they continued to stare at each other, each frozen in time, hardly breathing. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for - to be honest, he had no idea what she was going to do. They didn't talk emotions or feelings; they were super-secret spies, trained assassins and emotions or feelings were things that got them killed in their line of work. He could see her working through what he'd said, and he waited to see what she would do.

As seconds stretched into minutes, they remained as they were, bodies on one another, eyes locked. And then, she did something that shocked him - she smiled. It was small, almost nonexistent, but he knew her well enough to see it. He'd only ever seen her smile, really smile, a handful of times before. She smirked constantly, but she rarely smiled. But there was no mistaking this, for he could see the warmth in her eyes.

"Tasha?" he breathed. She shook her head slightly and leaned down to kiss him softly. It was the third time that night she'd done it, and it seared him to the core. They didn't do cuddly, couldn't afford to do cuddly; their sex was always hard, fast, rough, a fight for domination. They often ended up with just as many bruises as if they'd been sparring.

But this, this was something different altogether, and he wasn't sure how to react. He closed his eyes briefly, took a steadying breath, and went with his instincts. Moving his hand from her cheek to her hair, he pulled her head close for another kiss. They kissed softly, hesitantly, unsure how to act now that they weren't pulling hair or throwing elbows. It was bizarre, he reflected idly, that he felt more comfortable fighting ten people at once than he did kissing her in this moment. It was enough to make him feel like a prepubescent teenager all over again, a time in his life that he had no interest in reliving.

Making up his mind, he pulled her closer and, without breaking contact with her lips, he rolled them gently so that he was on top, holding his weight on his elbows. She wrapped her arms around his back, fingers gripping lightly at his shoulder blades. Breaking away from her lips at last, he kissed a path down her neck to the same soft spot on her shoulder; even in the poor lighting of his table lamp, he could see the mark he'd left earlier. He licked it slowly once, twice, before kissing it softly. Her slow exhale told him that she liked that, and that, as much as anything else, urged him on. He was determined to show her how much she meant to him, to use actions to convey words he couldn't say. Before, it had been about him, about his needs, but now, this was going to be about her.

He kissed his way gently down her body, pausing to lave her breasts, suckling first one and then the other. He spared a few precious seconds to waggle his tongue in her belly button, earning him a giggle, before kissing a trail down her abdomen and settling between her legs. He glanced up her body and his gaze locked on hers. Her look was smoldering, all lust and heat and something he couldn't quite identify, and he couldn't look away. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he licked upwards firmly, ending at her clit, which he tickled with the tip of his tongue. Still she watched him, and it suddenly became his mission to break her, in the most delicious way possible. He lazily circled her clit over and over, pushing her to peak, and he could see her eyes growing hazy as she neared her climax. Backing off, he moved down, flicking his tongue in and out of her quickly, his tongue mimicking their earlier actions. Some of the haze cleared, and she glared at him. He smirked before latching back on to her bud with his teeth, sucking roughly. It was so unexpected for her and he felt the tremor shoot through her as her eyes blinked once and then again before closing on a sigh. He sucked a few more times before resuming his earlier ministrations, circling her clit quickly. Her eyes remained closed but he could tell she was close from the way the breathy sighs escaped her mouth and her fingers tightened in his hair. A few more circles had her on the edge and then he bit her again; all the breath left her body in a low moan as her back arched off the bed and her legs tightened around his head.

Escaping the confines or her legs, he crawled back up the bed, eyes never leaving her face. He had seen her in all sorts of situations making all kinds of faces, but this was undoubtedly his favorite, when the mask slipped off altogether. With his fingers, he continued to stroke her clit, helping to prolong the pleasure. He must have hit a particularly sensitive spot, because her head whipped back into the pillow and a second, louder moan escaped her lips, followed by his first name. Just once, barely a whisper on her lips, but he heard it, and it sent a bolt of pleasure straight to his groan, hardening him to the point of pain. She had never said his name before, not during any of their previous sexual encounters, not even during missions. She always referred to him as "Barton" or "Hawk," never by his first name.

"Oh, Nat," he murmured to himself as he positioned himself over her. He waited until her breathing slowed enough for her to settle back down on the bed and her eyes to open and meet his before sliding into her slowly, inch by painstaking inch. It nearly undid him to move this slowly, but to hear the noises coming from her, the soft mewls and whimpers, made it worth it.

Once he was fully inside her, he stilled, waiting to take his cue from her. She locked her gaze on his, and she must have read his eyes - his soul, really - because she smiled again and kissed him softly before wrapping her arms around his back and her legs around his waist and in that moment, something changed irrevocably between them. He couldn't focus on it just then, but he knew they both felt it.

He withdrew just as slowly and reentered, taking his time, cherishing the moment, for he was sure it would never happen again. They rocked together slowly, movements matched perfectly, pleasure building until he couldn't see straight anymore. He didn't know how much longer he could last, but he was determined to wait until she'd orgasmed before letting himself go. Thankfully, she was still sensitized from earlier, so it didn't take long for her to go over the edge again. Her fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, so tightly he knew he'd have bruises tomorrow, but he didn't care, couldn't care, his entire being focused on their pleasure. As he felt her walls constrict, he knew it would only be a matter of moments before he followed suit; three strokes later, he did just that. His head dropped into her neck and his arms lost their ability to hold himself aloft any longer.

"Nat," he whispered against her dewy skin, not even loudly enough for his own ears to hear. "My Nat." Her fingers absently stroked his hair, neck and shoulders as she caught her breath (not an easy task, considering he was laying on top of her). When he felt that he had regained enough motor function, he rolled off her. She ended up tucked into his side, head nestled in his shoulder, although he wasn't sure if it was him who pulled her there or if she went willingly and did it really matter? Emotions and feelings were something someone in their profession couldn't afford, and tomorrow, they could go back to being Barton and Romanoff, professional killers, but tonight, just for tonight, they would let their guards down. Just for tonight, they would be Clint and Tasha, two people who cared deeply about one another.

"My Nat," he whispered sleepily into her hair, kissing the top of her head softly. He felt the curve of her smile on his shoulder and the subtle tightening of her fingers against his chest which told him that she'd heard him. His own fingers tightened around her as he dropped off to sleep. Just before he fell under, he whispered, "I love you, Nat."

Quietly, so quietly he wasn't sure if she said the words herself or if he dreamed them, he heard her say, "I love you, too, Clint." And with that, they both drifted off, wrapped in each other's arms.


End file.
